


to be human

by death_of_romeo



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, M/M, also (implied?) dork, implied yorklina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3488144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/death_of_romeo/pseuds/death_of_romeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is an order, and he is executing it perfectly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be human

**Author's Note:**

> ((Originally posted this on tumblr. Enjoy! x))

You ask him about her. You can hear the apprehension in his tone and you think, maybe, that this is what it means to be human, but he is not human. He is just zeros and ones, binary wrapped around a figure that isn’t even his, and yet he is alive inside of you. He is alive, and he is breathing, and you think that maybe, if he was standing beside you, he would smile. It would be a sad smile, the sort a best friend shows when you ask them to talk about someone who is long gone. They do not want to, but they will. They will do it not as a sign of letting go, but as a sign of simply doing as they’re told.

It is an order, and he is executing it perfectly.

He tells you that her designated title was Agent Carolina of the now disbanded Project Freelancer. The latter is a point that he will never fail to make, because the program was dismantled one hundred and seven days, two hours, and nine minutes ago. He will continue to remind you of this fact, and he will only address her as an agent because you asked for details, not memories.

You asked for facts.

He recounts, in vivid detail, the nights that you sat at her side and waited. You did not sleep for forty nine hours and eighteen minutes, and he will pause here just to remind you that sleep is a necessity. You disagree, but you are too engrossed in the memory of  _her_  that you don’t even bother trying to fight it.

He pauses.

He has told you before that pausing when speaking is a human act, done only to make up for a lack of understanding or a lack of confidence, but you have never known him to not be confident. You have never known him to hesitate, and yet you feel him flicker inside of you. You feel the life that is not your own pulsate once, twice, as if he is trying to run, but can’t.

He tells you that she had a drive inside of her unlike any other that he had come in to contact with, any other that he has ever known of before. You doubt that he will ever find anyone like her again, and you hate this thought. You hate the realization that  _you_  will never find her again, because you always liked to hope. You were always a dreamer, but he has always the one to pull your head out of the clouds and remind you that hope is illogical. Dreaming is illogical, and _he_  is not illogical.

_You_  are not illogical.

He tells you that it is okay to remember. It is okay to cling to the memories of a woman you once loved-

You correct him. A woman you love. Present tense.

He tells you that it is okay to love her. He reminds you that love is a construct, that love is an abstract idea that humans just simply cannot agree on.

You ask him if he has ever known love.

He does not respond at first. He flickers, in…and out. In…and-

You ask him again.

He tells you, again, that love is a construct. Love is abstract. Love is subjective, and he reminds you that his definition and perception of it will differ from your own, but that does not matter, because you are persistent, you are determined. You are trying your best to distract yourself from  _her_ , and you want desperately to know that the being inside of you understands.

You tell him that it is okay to feel human emotion. It is okay to love.

He disagrees. He reminds you that he is only an artificial intelligence program. He was not built to love, to lust. He was built to assist, and that is his only objective right now. He is only here to help you, to assist you, and you think that, maybe, that is his definition of love. Maybe just being there is enough.

Your mind drifts back to her. It always does. You wonder if just being there was not enough for her. You wonder what you did wrong, what you should have done instead to keep her around.

You wonder if she tried. You wonder if she ever even loved you to begin with. You have always been one to waste your time on the senseless, the pleasurable. You have always been blind to the obvious. He reminds you of this periodically, and each time, you think that you can hear the disappointment in his tone. You think that you can hear the annoyance in his words, and you think, maybe, that this is what it means to be human, but he is not human. He is just a series of zeros and ones, binary wrapped around a figure that is now his own.

He is not human.

He tells you, without being asked, that it is okay to feel human emotion. It is okay to love.

You wonder if he’s known this all along. 


End file.
